Like I’m quickly growing accustomed to, I hear her before I see her.
Anna flies down the stairs and starts making her way to me. By the time she swings around the counter, I’m holding her snack plate and glass of water out to her.
“Peanut butter before bed? Yes! You’re the best, Isa.” Anna empties my hands quickly and heads over to the plush couch.
Beth makes her way to me in a much slower fashion than Anna did and simply says “red or white.”
I smile as I look into the wine fridge built into the island and scour my options. “There’s an opened pinot noir if you’re up for it.”
She nods. “Yes, that’s perfect. I asked Mateo to open it for me before he left. No matter how fancy the electronic wine opener, I can never seem to figure them out and always end up ruining the cork. And besides, what good is a son if he can’t leave a bottle of wine perfectly decanted for his mother?” she jokes.
This is good.
She’s asking for wine while Anna’s still awake, and she’s cracking jokes. So, clearly, whatever she wanted to talk about can’t be all that serious. It shouldn’t set off my internal panic alarms.
I serve us two glasses of wine with dignified portions. As I put the bottle down, she gives me a bored look, and I chuckle.
At home, I sometimes overdo it and have our guests sipping off the rim of the glass on the table before they can safely lift it.
“Okay, okay. Just remember to tip your server,” I jest, as I pour more wine into each of our glasses.
“That’s more like it. Now, come sit next to me while Anna finishes her apples and watches that show I’m pretty sure her father doesn’t let her watch.”
I look up to see her watching a show with preteens that looks pretty innocent, but it’s on a streaming service, so I have no clue whether it’s inappropriate.
Beth must see my look of concern, because she shakes her head. “Anna lives in New York City. Her father is undeniably the world’s most famous baseball player, and she has me as a grandmother.” She points at herself as she lifts her glass. “Trust me when I say that she’ll be exposed to worse in due time.”
We laugh as we clink our glasses. I take a healthy sip of wine and almost moan. “God, that’s the good stuff.” I stare lovingly into what must be a very expensive glass of wine.
“So.” Beth takes a sip of her wine, and I quickly follow for another taste. She then lowers her voice as she says, “I guess my son is into you. What I wanna know is if you’re going to be my future daughter-in-law, or if your mother and I still have more work to do.”
I try, for the love of God I know I do, but I can’t save the decadent wine from being violently spit out of my mouth. Thankfully, it lands in the island sink to my right.
I lose all sense of my bodily functions as I cough roughly and attempt to wipe the mixture of booze and drool from my lips and chin.
Beth, looking completely unperturbed by the whole scene, just rolls her eyes as she says, “Ay, por favor,” and hands me a paper towel.
A real empath, that one.
Once I’m sure I can take a full breath, I wipe at the tears that formed during my coughing fit and make sure I’ve cleared all the evidence of the crime off my face. Then I turn to Beth and plant my hands on the island. “Bethzaida…”
“Save it. Your mother was right. I approached the subject too soon,” she says nonchalantly.
“My mother?”
She looks down at her nails, as if her cuticles have all of a sudden become incredibly fascinating. “I may have told her what I witnessed on the car ride over here and filled her in on my suspicions.”
I slowly nod my head. “Uh-huh, suspicions. And would you, and I guess my mother, like to elaborate?”
She sighs. “Oh, come on, Isabella. I know you don’t know my son as well as I do, but that phone call was a show of barely restrained passion.” She fists her hand in front of her face.
“Passion,” I say, dumbfounded, “for me?” I point at myself.
Then, slowly, I feel my shoulders shake as an ungraceful snort and laugh combo escapes my body. “Passion.” I gasp between laughter. “For me!” I start slapping the counter, garnering Anna’s attention.
“Abuela, is Isabella getting the nighttime sillies like I do?” she asks, earnestly concerned for my wellbeing as another bout of laughter forces me to bend over with my hands on my knees.
“No, mija.” She sighs as she takes another sip of her wine. “She’s just a woman in denial. Nothing to see here.”
